


Hot, sweet and wild

by kishmet



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Derek and Stiles dance, Dirty Dancing AU, F/M, In Public, M/M, No one puts Stiles in a corner, Peter is a creeper, Stiles and Scott are BFFs, Work In Progress, big brother Jackson, together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 14:43:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kishmet/pseuds/kishmet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his father had announced the trip to the Argents' resort, Stiles had envisioned long days spent lounging on the beach with his laptop. He'd never imagined rigorous training sessions with the world's hottest, strictest dance coach. <i>Dirty Dancing AU.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From the Teen Wolf Kinkmeme prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _Derek/Stiles, Dirty Dancing AU/Crossover/Fusion_  
>  With Stiles as the sassy 17-year-old ingenue and Derek as the grumpy, smoking-hot dance instructor at a summer vacation lodge. The rest of the cast can be slot in as you see fit.
> 
>  
> 
> Whoever posted this prompt, thank you for making my life.

"Look, boys, you should be able to see the resort from here."

Stiles craned out the limousine window to get his first glimpse of the paradise their father had promised. "Hey, wow." He pressed his palm to the glass. The Sterling Resort sprawled at the bottom of the hill like a postcard picture. Two low, white buildings curved along the beach, which sprouted varicolored umbrellas like weird mushrooms. Palm trees lined the road down to the hotel, along with other exotic foliage Stiles couldn't have identified if his life depended on it. Not without his trusty laptop, anyway.

"Not bad?" their father checked.

Stiles grinned. "I think I can deal with it for a couple weeks." He glanced across the seat at Jackson, who sat slumped with his phone, pretending he hadn't heard. "Now whether I can deal with _him_ , that's another story. Why didn't we leave him home like he wanted, again?"

"Because it's a family trip," their father replied firmly. "He'll have a good time whether he's planning to or not."

"Don't count on it." Jackson spoke up for the first time during the entire limo ride. He'd glared in the beginning at Stiles' enthusiasm for the car and their surroundings, but Stiles had baited him until Jackson had changed tactics.

They pulled up to the hotel, a three-story building lined with balconies and windows that marked each room. A group of laughing children in bathing suits pelted in front of the lower balconies. They ran past the car, buckets and shovels all ready for sand castle building or whatever trouble kids got up to these days, shrieking to one another. "Aww." Stiles watched them make their way down to the beach.

"Great," said Jackson without inflection. "Munchkins everywhere."

"Hey, we had a choice between a couples' resort or the family-friendly option," Stiles pointed out. "You really want honeymooners rubbing that in us three single guys' faces all vacation?"

"I _wanted_ to stay at home with the team," Jackson grumbled.

"Seriously? You can't even take two weeks off lacrosse practice to hang out with us-" Stiles began. He closed his mouth when their father shook his head.

"We're here now, so we should probably make the best of it instead of antagonizing each other. What do you say?" he suggested.

"I'm up for it if he is. No promises otherwise," Stiles replied.

He piled out of the car with his laptop case. "Thanks, man," he told the driver, who'd opened the door for him. Jackson followed him out, blinking sullenly in the sunlight, and then their father, who stayed to rummage through his wallet for a tip. 

Stiles rounded the limo and balanced the laptop on his hip. The driver had already popped the trunk, so Stiles started unloading their luggage. Jackson grudgingly stepped in to help, though only with his own pair of cases. More than Stiles had expected from him, anyway, given that Jackson had complained on the flight all the way to the Bahamas.

"John, you're here." A middle-aged man strode down to them from the hotel, with a dark-haired boy who looked around Stiles' age in tow. "So good to see you again." He clasped John's hand warmly. "And these are your boys?"

"That's right. Jackson is the oldest, and this is Stiles," their father introduced them. 

"Phew." Stiles let out a relieved breath. He'd hoped their dad wouldn't give his real first name. Anyone who didn't know him insisted it was charmingly old-fashioned and used it forever. "Oh, so you're the infamous Chris Argent?"

"One and the same," Chris confirmed. "It's great to finally meet both of you. Scott, get their bags."

"Nah, I'm good," said Stiles, when the dark-haired boy - Scott - came around the back of the car. He hefted his suitcase in demonstration. "I travel pretty light." He grinned, and Scott grinned back.

Jackson, of course, started off for the hotel with the smaller of his two cases and his computer. Stiles snorted and shook his head. "Sorry about him. I'd say he's better once you get to know him, but he might actually be worse."

"Don't worry about it." Scott pulled the handle on Jackson's other suitcase up. "In this business, you see much, much worse. So, Stiles, right?"

"Yeah. Scott?" Stiles checked. 

"Yup. Scott McCall," Scott replied. He got all three wheeled cases rolling smoothly behind him, somehow.

Stiles watched his technique admiringly. "Okay, I can hardly manage one of these without falling on my ass."

Scott laughed. "You pick up a knack. Should we wait for your dad?"

Stiles glanced back at John and Chris. "...your lovely daughter?" John was asking.

"Oh, she's off with her friends, but she'll be back tonight," Chris replied.

"Nah," Stiles decided. "I don't want Jackson calling dibs on all the best parts of the suite before I even get up there."

* * *

" _Every_ part of the suite is the best part." Stiles padded around their rooms, newly amazed at every turn. They had two bedrooms, one with a king-size and the other with two twins, plus a lounge area, a kitchenette, and a huge bathroom. Both bedrooms had an ocean view. "Dad wasn't kidding when he said he splurged on this place, even with the special Argent college roommate discount."

Jackson grunted from the bed he'd claimed: the one by the window, of course.

"Oh, that's how they know each other?" Scott asked.

"Yeah, they both went to U of I. He didn't tell you?" Stiles glanced at Scott, who'd set all the suitcases down as directed.

Scott shrugged and grinned a little. "I'm just a lackey. So you've never met him? Or Victoria or Allison?" A faraway look came into Scott's eyes as he spoke the name 'Allison.'

"Wife and lovely daughter?" Stiles guessed. At Scott's nod, he went on, "Nope. My dad moved to California and Chris was in New York before he came down here."

"Oh, okay." Scott nodded again, sagely. "Well, I'd like to hang around but..." He looked toward the door. "Mr. Argent doesn't like us goofing off on the job."

Stiles made a face. "I can already tell I'm going to get along with him like a house on fire. Literally, like a house gets along with a fire. Hey, hang on." He rooted around in his pocket and came out with a crumpled five. "Sorry it's the most pathetic tip ever."

"Keep it." Scott held up a hand. "We can't be friends if you tip me all the time, and you seem like a pretty cool guy."

"I am. Unbelievably cool," Stiles agreed with a grin. "It's okay, I'll remind my dad to do it later, and he'll leave you a better one."

Once Scott had left, Stiles embarked on a more thorough exploration of the suite. He picked up a handful of brochures on the table near the door. "Scuba diving, horseback riding, dance lessons, sailboating..." he read under his breath. "Wow."

"No extra charge for most of those, either. Pick whichever you want." John pushed through the door. "There's dinner and live music down on the beach later, so I thought we could all three join back up for that."

"That'd be amazing, Dad," said Stiles wholeheartedly. He trailed his father into the master bedroom. "So, spill. How much did you pay for this flawless getaway?"

John shook his head. "No, it's a gift for all of us, and you don't leave the price tag on a gift."

"Sometimes you do, if the recipient's willing to be indebted to you for life," Stiles offered, and his father snorted.

"As if eighteen plus years of food for you two bottomless pits won't have that effect already," he teased. "Just enjoy it. It's our first family trip since..." His father trailed off.

"Yeah, I know," Stiles answered more quietly. He injected some cheer into his tone. Depression didn't belong on this vacation. "Seriously, thanks, Dad. Everything looks fantastic. I think even Jackson might have some enforced fun."

He hollered the last sentence. Jackson shouted back, "Don't hold your breath. Or do it, actually, that'd improve _my_ summer."

* * *

Stiles spent some time pawing through the activity brochures. He'd hooked his laptop up to the hotel's wireless, too, and browsed some of the activity guides on the resort's site. Finally, though, he just ended up puttering around on a stretch of beach too rocky to be popular.

With the sound of squealing kids at his back, Stiles wandered into the surf. Cool waves lapped at his feet, clear here and turquoise deeper in. 

A lot of the stones here had been worn flat and smooth, along with some blunted beach glass that had washed ashore. Stiles picked up a gray stone, whistling absently, and started flipping it for something to do with his hands. He'd forgotten his rubber bands back at the hotel, his usual props for subduing the ADHD edge even his morning Adderall couldn't wrestle into submission.

He kept flipping the stone all the way up the beach. A gap in the foliage to his right had caught his attention, and Stiles grinned when he spotted the path.

Stiles glanced back toward the hotel. He wouldn't be off the resort grounds yet. He wouldn't be stumbling onto anyone else's private property anyway, since Sterling Resort shared one border with a small town and the rest with wilderness areas.

Large, spiky plants tickled at his bare legs as Stiles tromped down the narrow path. "The great Explorer Stilinski, treading boldly where no man has trodden before," he said out loud. "Oh, cool."

Further on, flowers bobbed in the breeze, vibrantly colored: red, purple, and white with bright stripes. "Okay, so not exactly undiscovered terrain," Stiles laughed to himself. Someone must have planted and tended those flowers for them to have grown so neatly.

He craned back over his shoulder when he passed the blooms. So far Stiles hadn't encountered anything less than stunning at the resort, and the flowers in particular struck him as gorgeous. He flipped the stone again and collided with another walker.

The beach stone thudded to the ground. "Man, I am so sorry, I didn't see you at... all..." Stiles trailed off.

"Watch where you're going." The man scowled at him. He couldn't have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three, a few years older than Stiles, but the glower aged him beyond his years. Even so, Stiles had never met anyone more attractive. The vision in front of him wore a t-shirt and jeans despite the heat; he had dark, artfully tousled hair and piercing eyes.

Stiles swallowed hard. "Well... you ran into me, too."

The frown deepened, and the man swept past him in a blur of sweat and light cologne. Stiles watched until he'd moved out of sight, then he wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts. "Well, you ran into me, too? Really?" he muttered to himself. "Smooth, Stilinski."

* * *

By the time Stiles headed back to the hotel, the live entertainment had started up. Umbrella tables had been laid out on the beach, along with flickering torches between them. He spotted Scott near the edge of the dining area, clad in a black jacket and white shirt. "Hey, man," Scott greeted him, lifting a hand.

"Hey. You're on waitstaff duty too, huh?" Stiles asked. "Harsh."

Scott raised one shoulder. "Not so bad. It pays the bills." He gave Stiles a wry grin.

Stiles returned it. "Yeah, I get how that goes. Better leave you to it before the boss man takes it out on you." Scott laughed and waved him away, leaving Stiles to search the tables for his family.

"Stiles! Over here." His father waved to him from one of the tables closest to the water. The table's other occupants stood when Stiles trotted over, though Jackson stayed in his seat, frowning out at the ocean. "You remember Chris, of course," said John. "And this is his wife Victoria."

"Hey, nice to meet the people my dad keeps talking about," said Stiles, shaking hands with the woman, who had her red hair in a neat pixie cut. "And you're Allison, right?"

The dark-haired girl smiled at him. She took after both her parents, though she wore her hair down to her shoulders. Both she and her mother wore dark red dresses that rippled in the wind. "That's right. My dad talks about yours all the time, too. Good to have a face to go along with the names!"

"It would be nice if you two could get to know each other," John prompted.

Stiles shot him a look. "Yeah, that'd be cool, Dad."

The seat beside Allison, to Jackson's right, had been left open for him. Stiles took it, ignoring Jackson's smirk. Another man sat at the table, between Stiles' father and Allison's mother. "And this is our hotel manager, Peter Hale," said Chris.

"Hi, Mr. Hale." A cold feeling ran down Stiles' spine when he met Peter's eyes. He bravely stuck his hand out anyway. "Must be quite a job, huh? Especially during the summer."

"Oh yes. I'm kept on my toes throughout the season." Peter clasped Stiles' hand with a little smile. Stiles pulled his hand back the second he could without seeming rude.

"Let me grab a waiter to take our drink orders," said Chris, but Allison pushed her chair out before he could.

She flashed them a smile. "I've got it, Dad. You stay here with our guests."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Chris replied.

Stiles tracked Allison's movement around the tables. She passed by two other waiters in their penguin suits and collared Scott. They stood close to each other, exchanging words that probably didn't have anything to do with drinks. Stiles bit his lip on a grin and glanced at the rest of the table.

Peter's eyes had been fixed on Scott and Allison, too. He turned to Stiles with a knowing look. Stiles looked away, at Jackson texting and their father conversing with Chris and Victoria. John had relaxed in his chair, hands folded on his stomach. Spending time with old friends would be good for him.

Stiles' attention wandered to the band, a small group with a singer, drummer, and two guitarists: bass and regular. They played an acoustic cover of the Beatles' _Love Me Do_. A handful of kids bopped around with their parents on the clear sand in front of the amplifiers.

Allison returned to the table. Scott trailed behind her, and she and her father exchanged a look Stiles could interpret all too well. "Evening, everyone," said Scott with an easy grin. "I can take your order cards if you're ready, and come back in a minute with any drinks you'd like."

Taking a quick look at the table, Stiles found a card with a list of meal options and a resort pen beside it. He checked off garlic shrimp skewers so he could hand over his card along with everyone else. "Dad," he said, half question, half warning.

"All right, all right," John groaned. "I'll go for the chicken breast instead of the steak." Scott handed his meal card back, and Stiles' father ticked off the alternate option.

Stiles nodded, satisfied. "I've been trying to get him eating healthier," he explained. "But Dad's practically allergic to anything green. It's been kind of an uphill battle."

Chris chuckled. "I remember. He ordered pizza or burgers in just about every night when we were in college."

"Oh, we're spilling college secrets now, are we?" John asked.

"I take it back," said Chris, and everyone laughed.

"I'm still having the steak," Jackson muttered as the laughter died down. He didn't look away from his phone. Stiles elbowed him.

Scott took down their drink orders. "Juice for me, please," said Stiles. "I don't care which kind. Surprise me."

"Surprise juice, right." Scott snickered, grinning at Stiles as he jotted the order down.

"McCall," said Chris, in a clear warning tone.

"No, it's cool, Mr. Argent," Stiles reassured him. "We really hit it off earlier. If Scott slacks off while I'm here, it's gonna be one hundred percent my fault, I promise."

Chris raised an eyebrow at him, and Victoria pursed her lips. "I'm sure it won't be, Stiles," Chris replied. "Your father's told us you're very well behaved."

Stiles carefully did not look around the table, but Jackson snorted anyway. "I think rumors of my behavior have been greatly exaggerated. Thanks, though, Dad," said Stiles, to general chuckles. Scott threw him a grateful look and escaped from the table.

Dinner turned out to be amazing. Stiles had assumed his father and Chris would monopolize the conversation while catching up with each other's lives, but by the time his shrimp skewers arrived he didn't even care. He made unattractive, delighted noises over the first one. Even Jackson wolfed down his steak, approving for the first time since their father had announced the vacation.

A scattering of applause toward the end of the meal cued Stiles that they might be due for some more entertainment. "This should be worth watching. Jackson, Stiles?" said their father.

"Hm?" Stiles peeked up at the band. They'd started an uptempo number, a reworking of the song Dynamite in a style Stiles could vaguely identify as Latin. He picked up his glass of surprise juice, which had turned out to be orange-mango, and forgot to drink.

The impromptu sandy dance floor had been cleared of children for the couple who walked out now. Someone had flicked on a spotlight to give everyone at the tables a clear view. The woman wore her auburn hair in a braid over one shoulder, which had been left bare by her tropical-print dress.

Stiles had met the man on the path earlier that day.

Now the man wore loose-fitted black dress pants and a button-down white shirt, unfastened at the top to show his collarbones. He took the woman's hand, his face unreadable, and swept a bow with her. "Who-" Stiles croaked as he stared.

"Who is she?" Jackson broke in.

"That's Lydia Martin," Peter replied. "A _very_ fine dancer."

"One of the best at Sterling," Chris added. "She might well go on to become a professional."

Stiles couldn't tear his gaze away. Lydia and the stranger whirled into the first steps of a salsa dance, her skirt flying around her knees. More applause broke out at the nearby tables as the man dipped her and came back up in one smooth motion. Their eyes locked. Stiles could almost feel the heat between them, writing off his chances immediately, although his first encounter with the man would probably have accomplished that anyway.

"Didn't I tell you? Sterling is well-known for its live dance routines, every night," said John. "And for its dance lessons, since those two are the instructors."

"Oh," said Stiles, mesmerized. "Are they? Huh."

"If I can dance with her, I'm going," said Jackson.

"I'm sure we can arrange that for you," said Chris. "Anything for John's boys."

Stiles sucked in a quick breath as the man spun Lydia out, then back in against him until not an inch of space remained between them. Their eyes stayed locked as if they fascinated each other just as much as they did their audience.

On the last beat of the song, Lydia performed a graceful leap and the man caught her, hands on her hips as her legs wrapped his waist, and they arched into another dramatic dip. Stiles found himself clapping enthusiastically along with everyone else at the table. 

"Well, you certainly didn't exaggerate their talents!" said Stiles' father above the noise.

"That's not their best," said Chris proudly. "Around the end of your stay we've got a real exhibition for all our dancers, and then you'll see what they can do."

"Wow, that's... wow," said Stiles. He startled when the man's eyes fixed on him. Unlike the feeling Peter Hale had given him, this look burned hot down his back. The man didn't look at him for long, turning back to Lydia and leading her into a simpler dance. Other couples, widely varied in age and ability, began to stream onto the floor after a moment.

He missed the first part of Chris's response to whatever Jackson had just said. "...go now, I'm sure she'd take some time away from Derek for one of my special guests."

_Derek._ The name had to be the male dancer's. 

Chris led Jackson toward the dance floor. "Stiles," said his father. "Why don't you ask Allison for a dance?"

Stiles finally dragged his eyes away from _Derek_. "Huh? Oh, yeah..." He lifted both brows at his father, who only made a shooing motion at him. "I might stomp all over your feet, but I'll give it a shot," Stiles offered, holding out a hand for Allison's.

She laughed as she gave it to him. "I'm sure you're not that bad."

"You haven't encountered the Stilinski dance moves yet," Stiles pointed out, and led her away from the table.

"Sorry," Allison murmured, once they'd walked out of earshot. "I don't want you to feel obligated to dance with me."

"Me, are you kidding?" Stiles asked. "Sorry you can't dance with Penguin Scott over there."

She startled and gave him a sidelong look. A flush had crept into her cheeks. "You noticed?"

Stiles shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm observant. He's up on cloud nine whenever he mentions your name, and I don't think you have to get quite that close to snag a waiter."

"If you could-" Allison began, and pressed her lips together, her eyes full of worry.

"Keep a secret from Papa and Mama Bear? Sure," said Stiles. "Told you I'm observant." He shot her a grin, and she relaxed into a smile as they reached the floor. Stiles knew enough to hold one of her hands and settle the other onto her waist.

"I hate calling my own parents elitist, but... they are," Allison admitted. "They want me to date nice college-bound boys, not employees."

Stiles nodded. "My dad wouldn't care who you dated, anyway," he told her. "He probably just has some grand fantasy about me marrying into the Argent family so he and your dad can play doting grandfathers together, you know what I mean?"

She laughed again. "I do. I know exactly what you mean."

They swayed to a new, slower tune. Stiles found himself searching the crowd for a glimpse of _Derek_. Jackson had paired up with Lydia as Chris had promised, and looked utterly enraptured. When Stiles caught sight of Derek, he saw the man had partnered with a middle-aged woman. Derek's face had shifted to a patient expression as he showed her how to spin away from him and back into his arms, at a much slower pace than he'd done with Lydia.

"Stiles?"

Judging by Allison's tone, she'd called him once or twice before. "Oh, sorry," said Stiles, giving her a sheepish look. "Thinking too hard about my feet."

* * *

Most of the diners had drifted back to the hotel with yawning children in tow. The waiters had cleared away the tables and torches, except for theirs. Chris had waved them away from their ongoing conversation, which largely consisted of the four adults reminiscing over their college days. Stiles didn't mind much, since his father looked more animated in a social setting than he had been in years.

The band had packed up and vanished, though; so had Derek and Lydia, and Allison and Jackson had both excused themselves from the table already.

After a decent length of time and a lull in the discussion, Stiles spoke up. "Dad, can I go?" Stiles asked. "I'm getting kind of tired, ish."

John glanced up at him, then down at his watch. "Huh. Time flies when you're in good company. He smiled at Stiles and motioned him toward the hotel. "Go ahead. Tell Jackson I'll be up in a bit."

"Don't stay out too late, mister," Stiles warned him, and his father laughed. "Anyway, it's been really great meeting you guys."

"You too, Stiles," Chris replied warmly. "I hope you and Allison get to know each other better during your stay here."

"Oh... sure, Mr. Argent, that'd be awesome," Stiles replied with a game grin. "She's great, really great. She might even dance with me again, since I only stepped on her feet like twice." That earned him another round of chuckles.

Stiles escaped before he had to lay it on any thicker. He picked his way off the beach, fiddling with the stone in his pocket, plucked from the path after his encounter with Derek.

"So it's just me, myself and I," Stiles said out loud.

He glanced back toward the beach. Light from the almost-full moon glittered off the ocean. Part of the hill blocked his view of the tables, though he could still hear the faint murmur of their conversation. They wouldn't be able to see him up here, either.

Stiles cut away from the hotel path, sliding both hands into his pockets. The night breeze made his beach shorts a little chilly for evening wear, even here in the tropics.

Suddenly he spotted a familiar figure ahead, burdened by a large, unidentifiable load in his arms. Stiles jogged to catch up. "Hey. Hey, Scott, what's up?" He caught one of the cardboard boxes that had begun wobbling out of Scott's precarious grasp.

"Thanks, man," said Scott. "Whew."

"Might not want to carry three boxes that weigh a hundred pounds each next time, just some friendly advice there," Stiles joked, hefting his up against his chest. "So are you smuggling rum in these things, or what? That'd be very Bahamas-appropriate." He caught the brief guilty look on Scott's face.

"No, no, just leftovers from dinner and the cafe," Scott explained, too quickly.

"Plus some leftover booze?" Stiles guessed. "Relax, dude. I might look like the all-American guy next door, but I'm not a snitch."

Scott stared at him for a second. "Allison said you were observant."

Stiles didn't have to be, around these two. Anyone could read their faces like a book. He refrained from saying so. "Where we hauling these to, anyway? I'm not taking part in any actual piratical business, by the way, no matter how awesome that would be."

"Noted." Scott started walking again. "To the after-dinner party." He glanced over at Stiles. "I probably shouldn't bring you."

"Who, me? Nah, I'm so quiet no one'll notice me anyway. Seriously though," Stiles added. "I can keep a secret and you can't carry all these by yourself, so."

"Yeah, true. You seem okay." Scott relented and led the way. To Stiles' surprise, they took the path he had discovered earlier, which branched closer to the hotel as well as to the beach.

"I was here today," said Stiles. "I ran into that dancer guy, Derek?"

"Derek Hale, yeah," said Scott. "He's a good guy, but I bet he bit your head off."

Stiles remembered his brush with Derek and grimaced. "Almost. I might've deserved it, toward the end. Wait, Hale?" His mind abruptly connected the dots. "He's Peter's...?"

"Nephew," Scott supplied. "Yeah."

"Score one more for my powers of observation," said Stiles wryly. Thinking back, the relation between them made sense. Derek and Peter shared their good looks, and he'd reacted strongly to both of them, though probably the wrong way around. Derek's scowl drew him in; Peter's smile repelled him.

They rounded a bend and another building came into sight. Instead of clean white, this one had been painted a dull brown that camouflaged it among the trees. A low bass beat pulsed through Stiles' bones as they approached.

"Staff quarters," said Scott. "Nice, huh?"

"Not too bad," Stiles replied, studying the two-story building. "Less... ostentatious." Finally that word had come in handy.

"C'mon." Scott led him up to the door, held cocked open by a large conch shell. Stiles slipped in sideways around the frame with his cardboard burden.

In here, the music surrounded them completely. Stiles stared around what had to be a common room for the staff, packed full of people. The band played at the far side of the room, not acoustic family favorites but real, pounding rock with a heavy beat. Some of the waitstaff, mingled with employees dressed down in t-shirts and shorts, had stripped off their black jackets and rolled up their sleeves. One girl called out and tossed her jacket up to the laughing bassist, who caught it on the end of his guitar.

Stiles' eyes widened. Some of the staff had stripped off more than jackets, though none of them had gone nude on either the top or the bottom yet. Some of the girls had apparently worn bikini tops under their shirts and jackets, because they wore the bright strips of fabric along with their dress pants.

"It looks like an MTV video shoot in here," he said. The music swallowed his words.

Everyone danced the bump and grind here, but more gracefully than Stiles had ever seen or expected. A girl slid her hand around her male dance partner's neck and into his hair in a slow, sensual gesture. One guy exhaled against the hollow of another man's throat, his hands sliding down his partner's chest, an intimate gesture that made Stiles shiver, feeling like a voyeur.

Couples and moresomes worked their bodies together with legs hitched over each other's hips, with hands cupping asses and kneading them in time to the music. Stiles flushed. "Uh, so," he called to Scott over the song.

"C'mon, table!" Scott shouted back, and plunged through the crowd.

Stiles edged forward. The box helped open a path for him, but limbs still brushed him at every turn. One grinning blonde girl groped his ass and laughed in his face when Stiles spluttered. "Hey, excuse you! Does consent mean nothing?" he asked, injured, scooting the last few feet to join Scott.

He set the box down on the table next to Scott's pair. "Oof. That definitely infringed on my personal bubble," Stiles hollered.

Scott just laughed. "Help me unload this stuff!"

Stiles pawed through his box, coming up with wrapped deli sandwiches, more shrimp and steak skewers, and two bottles of flavored rum at the bottom. He snuck a glance over his shoulder at the dance floor and felt a shock run through him.

Lydia had appeared, tugging Derek by the hand. She laughed as she exchanged inaudible words with another girl in a similar, multicolored dress. The press of bodies parted easily for the two of them. Derek's slight smile took Stiles by surprise. Another girl came up to him and rested her hands on his waist. Derek shimmied his hips for her, then did the same thing for a guy who approached him from the other side.

He stuck close to Lydia, though, never letting go of her hand. She turned to face him, swishing her skirt teasingly with one hand as she sidled in against him.

"Hey." Stiles nudged Scott. "Derek and Lydia are, you know. Right?"

"Huh? Oh, no." Scott looked back at them. "She's more like his baby sister."

"Baby sister, huh?" Stiles stared at the way they danced together. "Wow, either I have some really weird opinions on sibling relationships or you do." Jackson would be thrilled to hear about Lydia's availability, though.

A tiny thrill tickled at Stiles, too. He watched Derek with new eyes, appreciating his dark hair, damp with sweat and a little wild. His gaze slid down to Derek's sinuous hips.

When he looked back up, his eyes met Derek's. The smile transformed into a forbidding frown. Derek leaned down and murmured something in Lydia's ear, and left her dancing with another pair of boys as he forded toward the table.

"Uh-oh," said Scott.

Derek stepped close enough that Stiles could smell the sweat on him. "What's he doing here, Scott?" Derek demanded, in a low voice that carried over the music anyway. "He's a guest."

"C'mon, Derek, he helped me carry the refreshments," Scott wheedled. Stiles waved the rum bottle he still held weakly in demonstration. Derek shot him a brief, unreadable look.

"And since Allison can't come down tonight, we can hang-" Scott went on.

Derek scowled. "You shouldn't bring her, either. We're all fired if Argent finds out."

"Look, I won't say a word," Stiles put in. "My lips are sealed. Well, not literally. You know what I mean." He winced when Derek fixed him with another glare. His customary babbling worsened in Derek's presence.

"See? He's cool," said Scott, as if Stiles hadn't just proven the opposite.

Derek's steely gaze shifted to Scott. "It's on your head if he tells Argent," he said shortly, and stalked back into the crowd of dancers.

* * *

Despite Derek's obvious disapproval, Stiles found himself enjoying the staff party. He bopped his head in time with the music, arms folded across his chest. He didn't quite dare venture away from the refreshments table, but he'd poured rum and wine for a couple people who hadn't seemed to loathe him.

The hard beat had faded to a slinkier one. A taller guy around their age had stolen Scott away for this dance, and they laughed together over by the window, Scott's arm slung casually over the guy's shoulder.

Stiles's eyes didn't linger long on the two of them. Derek and Lydia had taken a place near the band, gyrating together, Lydia's hands on Derek's hips as he spun them around in a way that raised hoots and whistles from the crowd around them. She ended on the floor in the splits. Derek swooped her back up.

Once on her feet, Lydia turned to another man, teasing him with a finger under his chin. Derek faced a line of admirers and started unbuttoning his sweat-drenched shirt.

That smile on his face made him look at least five years younger. Stiles swallowed around the painful lump in his throat as Derek's fingers played down his own chest, exposing tanned skin and perfect pectorals. The shirt opened to a faint six-pack and a hint of darker hair below Derek's navel.

Derek looked at him again, his eyes dark with dilated pupils. He swept his way forward, toward Stiles and the table.

Stiles fumbled for the rum, but the bottle came up empty. He felt dizzy, watching Derek forge through the press of dancers. Hands brushed Derek's bare skin, but Derek didn't seem to notice or care.

"Uh." Stiles held up the bottle when Derek approached. "We- we're kind of out of rum, so if that's-" 

"It's not." Derek took the bottle from his hands and put it back on the table. His frown had returned, though not as deep as before. "You don't even know how to move."

"Not... really, no," Stiles managed to squeak out. "The Stilinskis are famed more for their wits than their actual moving abilities."

Derek's brow furrowed, and then he grabbed Stiles by the hips. "Use these," he commanded. "Foward and back. Let your whole body feel it."

Stiles' body felt the hot imprint of Derek's hands on him. He tried to obey, but the smooth rolls Derek showed him became jerky when Stiles gave them a shot. "No," said Derek impatiently. "Don't think so much."

"I'm _not_ ," Stiles protested. He couldn't have much blood left in his brain right now.

"Like this." Derek worked his hands over Stiles' hips, and Stiles forgot to overthink.

He stared into Derek's eyes, moving with his hands. "Now arch your head back," said Derek, and Stiles lashes fluttered as he did. When Derek's fingers cued him, he snapped back up in a roll of his body that felt sleeker, sexier, than anything he'd done before.

Derek stood for a moment, eyes locked on Stiles'. "Not bad," he said finally. He released Stiles' hips and turned away.

"Hey," Stiles rasped out. His heart was pounding. "Hey!"

Derek glanced back. "What?"

"You can't just teach me to dance and leave me hanging!" Stiles surged forward before his courage could give out. "Dance with me." He gripped Derek's shoulders, ignoring the glare.

"Dance with you?" In a single heartstopping moment, Derek's arms slid around him and pulled Stiles flush against his body, like the other couples nearby. "Is this how you want to dance?"

Stiles felt the heat from Derek's chest and abs. Wide-eyed, he forced himself to raise his chin. "Yeah," he whispered.

A flash of surprise passed through Derek's eyes, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Don't overthink," he reminded Stiles, and showed him how to move. At first Stiles' feet stepped in all the wrong directions as he thought too hard. "No, feel what I'm doing," Derek told him.

One of his hands slid down to Stiles' ass. Stiles shivered and threw a startled look at Scott, who gaped at him and shrugged.

"Eyes on me." Derek ordered his attention back, and Stiles snapped his head back around. The hand on his ass squeezed him. A breathy sound escaped Stiles' lips as he crowded closer to Derek.

With his mind on that hand, Stiles shimmied with Derek, a mutual roll of their hips that went all the way down to the ground. Derek led him back up into a simple spin. Stiles curved his fingers around the sides of Derek's neck in a rush of bravery, and Derek's expression showed not a trace of hostility. Derek made a low sound, leaning his head in toward Stiles'.

An "Oh," slipped out of Stiles. He could feel Derek's hot breath on his face, Derek's eyes intent on his. Stiles would only have to nudge up an inch or less to press their lips together.

The song ended before he could work up the nerve. Derek stayed locked with him for another second or two, then said, "Not bad at all," and pulled away.

"Well..." Stiles licked his lips and told Derek's retreating back, "It was good for me, too!"

He flushed as he heard Derek snort.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be updating this on the kinkmeme later tonight, too, for those of you who are following it there! ;)

Stiles slipped into the second bedroom. Jackson had turned off the lights, but he sat up in the dark anyway. "Where were you?"

"Just, you know, out on the beach. I was hanging with Scott," Stiles added, to add a note of truth to his excuse. He'd already peeked into the master bedroom and found the sheets tidy, the bed empty. "Dad'll be up soon."

"Lydia disappeared on me," said Jackson, as Stiles stripped off his shorts. "You think she's with that guy?"

"With, or _with_ with?" Stiles asked, then had pity on his brother. "Scott says they're not dating, although I wouldn't count on her being interested in you when she's surrounded by hot dancer guys. Probably," he tacked on. He couldn't admit that he'd seen some of them for himself, down at the staff quarters.

"Great." Jackson yawned loudly and turned over. His phone glowed in his hand. "I think she was into me."

"If that's what'll get you through the night, okay." Stiles sat on the edge of his bed, opening his laptop.

"Too bright. What the hell, Stiles?" Jackson complained.

"Hey, if you're awake enough to have your phone on, you're awake enough for me to mess around on the computer." Stiles rolled his eyes, but scooted over and angled the screen away from Jackson's bed. "Texting Danny to find out what kind of lacrosse thrills you've been missing?"

"No. Shut up," Jackson grumbled. "You wouldn't get it."

"Nope. One hundred percent non-athletic, that's me," Stiles agreed. He sighed and hunkered down on his knees in front of the laptop. For a minute, dancing with Derek, he'd felt almost graceful despite his utter lack of sporting ability.

He twiddled through some sites on ballroom dancing that included video tutorials and footprint charts. Stiles squinted at those for awhile. He had a hard time envisioning the steps based on the graphics, so he turned off the sound and played a few of the videos instead.

The suite door opened with a faint click and a thud. Stiles glanced up.

"Boys?" Their father knocked lightly at the bedroom door.

"Come in, we're up," Stiles called.

Light spilled into the room, casting John's shadow across the floor. "Sorry I stayed out. It's been awhile since Chris and I had time to catch up." He leaned against the doorframe, his face in silhouette so Stiles could just make out his smile. 

Jackson lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. "It's fine."

"Yeah," Stiles put in. "Get some use out of that amazing beach, you know?"

"I know. I'd like to spend more time with the pair of you, though," their father replied. "How does a boat tour around the island sound? Chris and Victoria offered us a spot on tomorrow morning's cruise. Allison and Lydia will be there," he went on enticingly.

"I'm there," said Jackson, without hesitation. "What time?"

"Nine. Set the alarm in here for, say, seven-thirty?" John suggested.

Stiles bit his tongue on a good-natured groan. The idea of a tour appealed to him, but mornings didn't. Neither did his father's clueless matchmaking. But he did want to spend a good chunk of the vacation with their father and even Jackson, before they had to return to the daily grind of school life. "Sounds fantastic, sure."

* * *

A light spray flew into Stiles' face as he leaned over the prow rail of the _Sterling Silver_. This, he'd done before in California, and he loved the deep blue of the ocean there, but he'd never been through clear, turquoise waters like these.

"Wow," Stiles said out loud. "It's like they pour dye in here, it's crazy."

"Actually, it's because warm, shallow water doesn't hold as many nutrients at the surface," a voice spoke from behind him.

Stiles startled. "Whoa. Lydia, hey." 

"Hey, Stiles." She smiled at him and folded her arms on the railing. For the first time, Stiles could appreciate her looks without the distraction of Derek. Today she'd bound most of her auburn hair into a ponytail, and left the rest to spill over her shoulders. She wore another breezy gown, suited to the tropical afternoon, this one white with a section of lace over her back. Jackson had been falling over himself when he'd seen her.

"They teach you that in dance class?" Stiles asked her.

Lydia snorted. "No. I graduated top of my high school class last year." She turned her head, her expression pensive as she gazed over the water.

"I don't remember learning that one yet," Stiles commented.

She shrugged. "I did a report on ecosystems in the Bahamas. Special project for my science teacher."

"That's crazy and probably unfair," said Stiles. "I mean, you're a scary good dancer and super smart? I've got to go through life with average intelligence and mediocre dancing skills."

Lydia glanced over at him. "You looked all right last night, with Derek."

Stiles shot an instinctive look around to make sure no one could hear them. His father and Allison's parents had taken seats on the upper deck along with a handful of other passengers. He flushed a little and looked back at Lydia. "Yeah, well, that was all him. He's kind of amazing. You know, at dancing."

"At dancing," Lydia repeated, sounding amused. "Of course."

Jackson came up behind her and saved Stiles from further awkward explanation. "Mm, hi," she greeted him, letting Jackson slide his arms around her waist. 

Stiles blinked at them. "That escalated quickly."

"Some of us don't take years to make a move," Jackson returned. He kissed Lydia's cheek. "Has my baby brother bored you enough?"

"I wouldn't say he's boring," Lydia demurred, laughing as he nuzzled her temple. 

"Oh?" Jackson glanced at Stiles and raised his brows. For once he looked relaxed, not spoiling for a fight at all. "Trying to steal her?" he teased.

"Sure, yeah, with my mountains of charm. You just haven't seen me in seduction mode yet," Stiles returned.

"I'm not sure whether I ever want to witness that," said Jackson.

"Oh, don't worry, you _won't_ be around when I turn on the smolder." Stiles cast a look over the railing again and saw dark streaks in the water. "Whoa! Guys-" He cut off as one of the dolphins broke the surface. Another one leaped in the boat's wake, and Stiles laughed, amazed. "Wow."

Lydia and Jackson both leaned over the rail to look. "Oh, it's the spotted dolphins," said Lydia. "We have bottlenoses on the other side of the island."

"We'll have to find those ones sometime, too. Just you and me," said Jackson, and she nodded, her lips curving in reply.

"What's the difference?" asked Stiles, fascinated. "These ones don't look like the ones at the zoo, so I've gotta assume those ones are probably bottlenoses, right?"

"Probably," Lydia replied. "The spottys are smaller, and spotted, obviously." She smiled and tipped her chin up for a kiss from Jackson.

Stiles made a face, looking down at the dolphins. He didn't mind Jackson having a sex life, but he didn't want to be privy to any part of it. "I'm gonna go see what kind of snacks they have up top. You guys re-enact that scene from Titanic, or something." He stuck his arms out. "I'm flying, Jackson."

Jackson waved him away. "Go get your snacks."

A flight of stairs curved gently up to the higher deck. Stiles gripped the rail, glad none of them suffered from seasickness. "Hey, careful." He steadied a little girl making her way down the steps, and headed the rest of the way up himself. 

More children pelted around on this deck, under the watchful eyes of their family. Adults and teenagers lounged on the white chairs scattered around, while the snack bar did some lively business. "Dad, guess what? We saw dolphins riding the wake," said Stiles, waving to Chris, Victoria, and Allison. They sat with his father in a separate section, several feet away from the main group of guests. "Oh, and can I have a couple bucks for food, pretty please?"

"Sure, Stiles. Why don't you get something for Allison, too?" John asked, rummaging for his wallet.

"John, there's no way I'm going to let you pay," said Chris. "On the house. Boat."

"We couldn't-" John began.

"Yes we could," Stiles put in, grinning. "Come on, Dad, someone wants to treat us like celebrities for two weeks, I'm cool with that." He waggled his fingers at his father and beckoned to Allison.

She rose and accompanied him to the snack bar. "How are Jackson and Lydia getting along?"

"A little too well." Stiles grimaced expressively. He lowered his voice. "How's Scott?"

Allison wrinkled her nose. "Stuck up at the hotel for the day. Mr. Hale and my father are always plotting to keep us apart. I'm glad Lydia's found someone, though."

"Don't be too glad. It's Jackson," said Stiles. "No, don't worry, he's an okay guy. He looks pretty happy with her, for once."

"Well, it must have been hard on all of you, since-" Allison bit her lip, looking sidelong at him.

"Yeah," said Stiles shortly. "Hey, Captain America ice cream shield? I'll take like five of those, please," he informed the woman behind the snack bar.

* * *

They pulled back up to the docks around midafternoon and filed off with the rest of the guests. Allison had been a decent ice cream buddy as Stiles had enjoyed the single Captain America shield he'd wound up ordering, and the island had been gorgeous. He'd caught his first glimpse of the town, buzzing with tourists who he guessed either wanted a different atmosphere or couldn't afford a stay at Sterling.

"I was thinking I might hang around on the beach," Stiles commented to Allison.

"Do you mind if I go right up to the hotel?" she asked.

Stiles shook his head. "That's fine." He turned and grinned at her. "We can be each other's excuses when we want to cut out and do other stuff. You know a side way in? I could walk up with you and then skip back down here."

"Of course. I've basically grown up here," said Allison, smiling back at him. "Very convenient."

She led him off the path, onto the lawn green enough that it could have been dyed, too. Stiles glanced back and felt a brief pang of guilt when he saw his father smiling after them. Still, when the two weeks ended he and Allison wouldn't see much of each other anyway, which would put a gentle end to his father's hopes on the subject.

"Thanks, Stiles." Allison gave him a peck on the cheek and ducked through a nondescript door, painted the same white as the rest of the wall.

"Not a problem, dude," Stiles called after her. "Ette. Dudette. That sounds kind of sexist, so yeah, dude it is." He said the last part out loud to himself, and walked back around to the front of the hotel, peeking around the corner to check for any watchful parents.

Instead he almost collided with Jackson. "What's up?" Stiles asked him, surprised.

Jackson scratched the back of his neck, glancing away. "Lydia's... upset about something."

"Yeah?" Stiles asked. "You being your usual delightful self, or...?"

" _No_ , not about me," Jackson snapped, looking at him again. "I don't think. We started talking about school and she just..." He gestured in frustration. "I don't know."

"And you're telling me instead of going after your girlfriend, why?" Stiles prodded him.

"You're..." Jackson scratched his neck again. To Stiles' interest, a flush rose up into his face. "You know. Better with the feelings crap."

"Aw, I didn't realize you noticed," said Stiles. He felt honestly touched. He couldn't help but notice Jackson's athletic strengths, but he hadn't been sure Jackson knew his in turn. "Okay, so you want me to go after her and find out what kicked this off?"

Jackson nodded, averting his eyes. "That'd be great."

* * *

After finding out from Jackson which way Lydia had gone, Stiles jogged down to the staff quarters path. He found Lydia about halfway along, among the flowers with her back against a palm tree.

"Um, hey," said Stiles, slowing to a walk. "Jackson said-"

"I'm fine," Lydia interrupted in a clipped tone.

"Okay, but you don't actually look real fine," Stiles pointed out. He wanted to sit down by her, but she might see that as an intrusion. People handled grief and upset in all kinds of different ways, as Stiles well knew.

She buried her face against her knees. He knew she had to be a year or two older than him, but she looked younger just then. "Just go away, please."

"Right, I can do that." Stiles stepped back onto the path, but not in the direction of the hotel. He hurried toward the staff quarters.

The party from the night before had been cleaned up. Someone had moved the conch shell, but when Stiles twisted the handle, the door opened for him anyway. He stuck his head hesitantly inside and spotted the blonde who'd felt him up, though she wore much less makeup in the light of day. "Uh, where can I find Derek Hale?" he asked her.

"Oh, hi, cutie," the girl purred in reply. "I never got your name or number last night."

"No, that's true, but this is kind of-" Stiles began as she sidled toward him.

"Erica." A deeper voice interrupted him.

Both Stiles and Erica glanced toward the stairway that led up to the second floor. Derek stood shirtless on the landing, a towel around his shoulders and loose exercise pants that rode low on his hips. He held a t-shirt in his hand. "You have two strikes already. Don't make him the third," Derek told her.

Erica sighed. "We're never allowed to have any fun." Still, she winked over her shoulder at Stiles as she climbed the stairs, brushing past Derek on her way up.

Stiles swallowed hard. Derek seemed to inspire that reaction in him with regularity. "Sorry, I know I'm not supposed to just wander in here, but this seemed important," said Stiles, as Derek came down the stairs, eyes fixed on him. Derek's skin gleamed with sweat. Stiles wrenched his gaze up and forced himself to pay attention to the subject at hand. "Uh, Lydia's not happy and I figure she might talk to you."

Derek's expression changed. "What happened?" he demanded. "Where is she?" He brushed close to Stiles, pushing his way out the door. The towel around his shoulders dropped to the floor.

"I can show you..." Stiles trailed off as he caught sight of the tattoo on Derek's back: a triple spiral, all inked in black.

Derek pulled the black shirt over his head and looked impatiently back at Stiles. "Well?"

"You better be sweeter to her than you're being to me," Stiles muttered, and led the way. He didn't have to guide Derek far to where Lydia still sat, her knees pulled up to her chest.

"Lydia." Derek strode to her side and crouched down next to her. 

"Derek?" Lydia looked up. She glanced from Derek to Stiles and back again. "I told him I was fine."

"You're not fine." He sounded gruff, rather than truly annoyed. "Did Peter-?"

"No, no." Lydia shook her head. "I was talking to Jackson and school came up, and... the interview's next Friday, Derek, and you know I can't-"

"You _can_. I told you," Derek replied. 

Lydia shook her head again, harder. Some of the hair from her ponytail had come loose around her face. The movement swung the locks back and forth. "You need this job. I'm not letting you take the blame."

Stiles hovered uncertainly. They could have been talking in code for all he understood of their discussion. "Can I help out at all?" he asked, tentative. "I'm really good at taking the fall for pretty much anything. You can ask Jackson."

Derek made a scoffing noise, but Lydia just let out a mirthless laugh. "You're sweet. I don't think so, Stiles."

"C'mon," Stiles persisted. "What's the problem? You never know until you try me."

"There's a scholarship interview next Friday, on one of the bigger islands." Lydia looked down. "I was accepted at Harvard, but without the scholarship I can't go. The loans would be too much, I'd be paying them back for the rest of my life."

"So why can't you go? Wouldn't the Argents give you time off?" Stiles asked, confused. "They seem okay. Kind of strict but okay."

Derek made another derisive sound. "We have an exhibition on Friday," he said, low. "At the Argents' hotel in town. My uncle-" He hesitated and glanced at Lydia.

"-doesn't want me to leave the resort," Lydia finished. "He knows I was accepted. He won't want me going for the scholarship, and he'll use the performance as an excuse."

"Oh. Okay." Stiles felt like they'd given him the condensed version of the story, but he didn't know them well enough to pry for more. "Could you get one of the other dancers to do it, so Mr. Hale doesn't find out until it's too late?"

"Some people work for a living," Derek bit out at him. "They can't take time to learn the routine, or time off for the show. Not without my uncle finding out."

Stiles felt a hint of anger. "Hey, look, my dad's a cop, not some gazillionaire resort owner, and I'm not somebody's pampered heir," he shot back. "We get what it's like to work for a living, okay?"

Something in Derek's eyes changed, and he lowered his head in a nod. "I'm sorry."

"Wow." Stiles hadn't expected that. "Apology accepted. So... can you maybe get a guest to do it? Not Allison, I guess she's too close to Mr. Hale, but somebody else?"

"Who?" Derek asked. "You?" He snorted again.

"Wait, Derek." Lydia wore a contemplative look that made Stiles wary. "That's not a terrible idea."

* * *

Lydia had a room on the top floor of the staff building. Stiles hung back in the doorway while she and Derek held a brief, murmured conversation. The room had been decked out with gauzy pink curtains, glossy magazine cutouts that showed models or various celebrities Stiles didn't recognize, and a white comforter and lace-lined pillows on the bed.

He also saw a host of textbooks piled on the shelf beside the bed. Stiles tipped his head to the side and read _Applied Calculus_ along the spine of one. The next in line read _Foundations of Organic Chemistry._

Derek straightened up. Since they'd finished their back and forth, Stiles commented, "If you understand like half the stuff in those books, you've got that scholarship in the bag."

"Me and the other five thousand students trying for them," Lydia replied, but she smiled at him. "Thanks, Stiles."

"Come on." Derek grasped Stiles by the wrist and towed him toward the stairs.

Derek's fingers dug into his skin, sending that same hot thrill down Stiles' back. He remembered the imprint of those hands on his ass and shivered at the thought of dancing with Derek again. "Whoa, whoa, hey, what," Stiles protested weakly, as Derek dragged him downstairs. "Earth to Derek."

"We have to start now," said Derek flatly. "I have evening lessons."

He marched Stiles out of the staff quarters. "Okay, I get that," said Stiles. "But you know how I volunteered for this job? You don't have to frog march me like you're an Alcatraz guard and I'm on death row, okay?"

Derek hesitated, then released Stiles' arm. "That wasn't frog marching."

Stiles rubbed his wrist. Derek hadn't hurt him, but he could feel the ghost of Derek's fingers on his skin. "Well, I wouldn't know. I'm an upstanding citizen, so I never had cause to find out. Hey!"

He jogged after Derek, catching up to his long strides. "Where exactly are we going?"

"One of the storage sheds," Derek replied without looking at him. "It's private, with plenty of space."

"Private, huh?" Stiles glanced over at Derek. His belly tingled with irrational excitement. Derek meant privacy for their dance lessons, not for a clandestine tryst, but Stiles couldn't help his instinctive reaction.

Derek finally met his eyes, and averted his gaze again. "So my uncle won't find out what we're doing."

"Yeah, of course," said Stiles. "Your uncle. You're not a fan?"

Derek didn't answer, but his lips pressed together, his expression tightening. "That's a no," Stiles guessed. He shrugged. "I'll admit it, Mr. Hale creeps me out. Funny how he smiles all the time and I don't like him, and you frown all the time and I-" He cut off when Derek's eyes flicked to him. "I don't mind you," Stiles finished.

He waited a few seconds. He'd just opened his mouth to speak again when Derek replied, "You have good instincts. About him, anyway."

"Good instincts run in the family, sort of," said Stiles. Jackson had surprisingly great taste in friends, as proven by his best friend Danny at home. John's gut instincts about suspects and witnesses had sped his promotion to sheriff, and of course he'd married someone equally perceptive.

Stiles strayed away from that line of thinking. He craned ahead, instead, as a group of sheds came into view. He counted four of them, set back from where the beach ended in a high sea cliff. These had been painted the same white as the main resort buildings and had obviously been well-tended, unlike the garden shed in their backyard at home. Each of the sheds could have comfortably fit at least a pair of cars, and some looked wider than an ordinary garage. "What do you guys even store in here?" Stiles asked, amazed. "Yachts?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "A few _smaller_ boats," he said. "Maintenance supplies, fishing kits, storm gear."

"I was being hyperbolic about the yachts," said Stiles. "But that's cool. There's enough dance room in these?"

"I wouldn't have suggested them otherwise." Derek sighed. "Come on."

Stiles trailed obediently after him. His eyes lingered on Derek's back, where he'd glimpsed the triple spiral tattoo. He wondered about the ink's meaning, but he didn't want to irritate Derek by asking.

Derek reached up and pulled a key down from the second shed's roof, from under a loose shingle. "You don't use this unless I'm here. Ever," he told Stiles.

"Oh yeah, the sheriff's son's gonna break in and steal a speedboat or something. Don't worry about it, I won't," Stiles added, holding up his hands in surrender when Derek glared at him.

He slipped inside after Derek and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Derek flipped a light switch, tucking the shed key into his pocket. Stiles saw rows of metal shelves, illuminated by six bare bulbs on the ceiling. Some long waterskis leaned against the wall, along with a brightly-colored parachute that might have been used for parasailing or something. 

The gaps between rows left plenty of space for a dancing couple. Stiles fidgeted. He knew next to nothing about real dance moves, aside from the dry information he'd picked up online the night before. 

"Come here," Derek ordered him. He held his arms up in a semicircle.

"O...kay," Stiles managed to force out. His bare feet made soft padding sounds on the concrete floor. Derek's footsteps had been almost noiseless. He moved with a feline grace that Stiles didn't think he could ever hope to match.

He stood in front of Derek and lifted his hands, balking before he set them anywhere. Stiles didn't know whether he should hold Derek's hands or grip somewhere else.

"Really?" Derek asked. Stiles could hear the eyeroll in his tone. 

"Hey, last time I danced before this trip, I was in fifth grade," Stiles defended himself. "We had to keep our hands on each other's shoulders or waists, on pain of death, so-"

He sucked in a gasp as Derek took him by the arm. "We're not in fifth grade anymore," said Derek. "Your left hand goes _here_." Derek pressed Stiles' palm to his right bicep. Stiles' eyes widened. He could feel the muscles there, firm under a light sheen of sweat.

"And your right hand in mine." Derek curled his fingers around Stiles', and closed his other hand just under Stiles' shoulder blade.

Stiles' breath quickened. He stared into Derek's intense eyes and glanced down, flushing. 

"No. Eyes on me," Derek commanded. "I'm leading, so you take your cues from my body and my face."

Stiles raised his chin, flushing hotter when his eyes met Derek's again. "I think I can handle that."

Derek lifted an eyebrow at him. "We'll see."

They started with some simple swaying to find the beat, as Derek told him. Stiles wobbled from one foot to the other while Derek moved, slow rolls of his entire body, shifting his weight from left to right and back again. "We're doing the rumba next week," Derek told him. "Everyone watches the hips, but it's about all of you, your whole body. Eyes up!"

Stiles jerked his gaze away from Derek's rocking hips. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I just don't know how you, you know." 

He tried one of the same rolls to demonstrate. "Oh my god." Derek closed his eyes.

"What? I said I didn't know!" said Stiles. "Come on, you can't give up on me after five minutes."

"I'm not." Derek's hand slid from his shoulder down to his hip, and gripped him tight. He reeled Stiles in close the way he had on the dance floor last night. "Like this. Each step lands on the ball of your foot, then down flat. Light steps, not so heavy."

Their pelvises bumped as Stiles picked up the wrong rhythm. Derek growled under his breath. Stiles switched quickly to his other foot, slowly lowering it from the ball to the heel with the shift of Derek's hips against his. He did the same on the left, matching his step to the tempo of Derek's lithe roll.

"That's better," said Derek. "Now one, two, three, four, step right on two, one, two, three- Stiles!"

Stiles threw his right foot out too late and stumbled. Derek caught him with a quick arm slipped around his waist. "I'm sorry!" said Stiles. "I didn't want to go on one, but then I waited right past two."

"You had the beat," Derek sighed, and swiped a hand across his forehead. Sweat droplets flicked off his skin, glimmering under the lights for a moment. "Again."

They worked for a long time, with Derek counting out the rhythm. Stiles tended to panic and shift before Derek had said more than "T-", or to freeze through the second beat. Derek scolded him for each mistake, pulling Stiles flush to his body so he could lead him through the dance by touch.

Whenever he ordered Stiles back into a proper dance position, though, Stiles fumbled the steps. "Right, together, left- no, forward," Stiles muttered. He'd drenched his t-shirt and shorts with sweat, some of his own and some Derek's from when they'd been pressed chest to chest.

"It's the same, Stiles," said Derek impatiently. "Whether you're up close or not."

"It's really, really not," Stiles protested. "How do I know what you're doing if I can't feel you and I can't watch your feet?"

"I told you, watch my eyes. Feel my arms," Derek shot back.

"I'm trying, believe me!" said Stiles. Derek's flexing biceps distracted him more than anything, and he couldn't translate their movement to the shift of Derek's feet. "Look, maybe I need music or something? I'm just not getting the whole second beat thing without the crazy bass thumping it out."

Derek studied his face for a few seconds. Stiles squirmed. Shaking his head, Derek released Stiles and gave him a little push away. "That's enough for today."

* * *

By the end of the afternoon, Stiles' legs ached. He'd holed up on the balcony of their suite with his laptop, checking out rumba videos with his sore feet propped up on the railing.

The glass door behind him slid open. Stiles hurriedly closed the computer's lid. 

"Hey, kiddo," his father greeted him. "I hope you weren't surfing for porn."

Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Dad, firstly, anyone who _surfs_ for porn is just asking for their computer to be infected with every kind of malware known to man, and secondly, I wouldn't do it out on the balcony, ew. I'm not Jackson." He had downloaded a few recommended videos for discreet viewing, unlike his brother. Jackson sometimes jerked off to Xtube videos with his bedroom door open.

"Okay, okay, I'm just checking. You're not usually so secretive," John teased. "Mind if I sit?"

"Yeah, I've called dibs on the whole balcony," Stiles joked, and his father laughed. John took the wicker seat on the other side of the matching table.

"Enjoying yourself so far?" John asked him.

"Are you seriously asking me?" Stiles returned. "I've got an ocean view, my laptop, and some potato chips. Want a couple?" He picked the bag off the table and offered the open end to his father.

"Uh-oh, is this a test? Am I allowed?" his father asked.

"They're baked," Stiles explained, smug. "Go ahead. So what're your plans for the evening, anyway?" he asked, as his father pulled out a pair of chips. Stiles plucked out a large one for himself and munched it. "'m- 'scuse me." He swallowed his mouthful. "I was thinking of finding out how huge a disaster Jackson's first dance lesson will be, if you wanna join in."

He curled his bare toes, feeling the aftereffects of his own lesson. His muscles hadn't adjusted to his new attempt at athleticism yet.

"I'd love to, but Chris and Victoria invited me to an early dinner." John looked at him with a troubled expression. "If you'd like, I can cancel. They'll understand-"

"Dad, no," Stiles interrupted. "We've still got plenty of time to hang out. You kids have fun." He fixed his father with a stern look. "But don't let them feed you any saturated fats, or too much salt."

"Such a harsh taskmaster," John sighed, smiling at him. "I might even eat a salad if they serve one."

Stiles nodded his approval. "Good boy."

* * *

Sterling held most of its on-site activities in the other building. The website had listed all available amenities, including a swimming pool, hot tubs, sauna, squash courts, dance studios, and tennis, badminton, and volleyball courts out back. They also offered a full complement of workout equipment, which Stiles had skimmed with disinterest.

He stopped by the snack bar on the first floor for a chocolate chip granola bar. On second thought, Stiles spent all his spare cash on three of them plus some Gatorade before wandering down one of the side corridors. A sign at the mouth of the hall had been clearly labeled with arrows pointing the way to all the various rooms: dance studios to the left.

Stiles forded through a waist-deep tide of kids who had just poured out of a studio, and spotted Jackson and Lydia at the end of the hall.

"Hey." Stiles waved the Gatorade at them. He sped up to a trot. "How're you guys doing?" He asked casually, but met Lydia's eyes for an extra second or two. 

"Just fine, Stiles," Lydia replied with a little smile. She glanced up at Jackson. He grinned down at her.

"Much better. Looking forward to my first lesson with this lovely lady," said Jackson. He added a cocky, "I'm sure I'll be a natural."

"Yeah, because lacrosse resembles ballroom dancing in so many ways," Stiles remarked. To forestall any bickering, he held out the granola bars. "One for me, one for both of you, since I'm generous like that."

Jackson plucked two of them from Stiles' hand and offered one to Lydia. "Yum, chocolate chip," she said. "We'd better eat them after. I'll be working you hard."

"Oh, I hope so," said Jackson.

Stiles made a face, prepared to tell them to get a room, when both of them glanced past him. A moment later Stiles felt a definite hot presence at his back. He turned, startled. "Derek," he squeaked out. Derek loomed large behind him, no taller than Stiles but much more well-built. Stiles had more intimate knowledge of those muscles now. He flexed his fingers around the last granola bar, remembering Derek's biceps under his hand.

"Hi, Derek," Lydia greeted him. "Where's your five-thirty?"

"Late," Derek replied. 

Lydia waved a hand. "She's always running ten minutes behind. My five-thirty, on the other hand, was ten minutes early." She gave Jackson a peck on the lips, smiling into the kiss. "And Stiles brought us granola bars, too, isn't that sweet?"

Stiles locked eyes with Derek and swallowed hard. "I didn't- I didn't know if you liked chocolate chip. Or granola. So, yeah, since you looked sweaty earlier, I got this instead, in case you were around." He held up the Gatorade. "Lemon-lime, no one hates lemon-lime, right? And it's important to rehydrate."

Lydia laughed behind her fingers. Derek stared at him. 

"If you don't want it, that's cool," Stiles amended.

"No," Derek said finally. It seemed like a refusal until Derek took the bottle from him. "Thank you."

"No problem. Anytime," Stiles replied.

* * *

When Stiles discovered that Jackson and Lydia meant to do more flirting than dancing, he slipped out of the studio. The area had impressed him, with floor to ceiling mirrors on both sides and large windows with a view toward the tennis courts at the back. Still, he hadn't been interested in watching three different angles of Lydia tweaking his brother's ass.

He enjoyed his granola bar as he ambled down the hallway. Each of the studio doors had a window set toward the top, so he peeked inside the ones on his right.

One held a ballet class full of older children, about ten or twelve. A tall, slim young man led them through the exercises with a smile. Stiles recognized him as the guy Scott had danced with at the staff quarters.

The next room contained a group of middle aged and senior students, a group he'd seen file into the studio. At first Stiles couldn't pick out the instructor, but then he saw Erica with a dark-skinned man who wore a serious expression. He recognized that guy from the party, too. They confirmed his suspicions by splitting up and circling the room, making gentle posture corrections.

Erica spied him through the window and waggled her fingers at him.

Stiles waved back and ducked away. He crossed the hall to the other set of studios, these set facing the beach.

In the first one, as he'd known, he found Derek in the midst of his five-thirty lesson. The other adults had been obvious beginners, but the middle-aged, black-haired woman who'd entered the room with Derek had to be more experienced. Derek spun her against him, their hands joined at her waist, then twirled her away. He wore a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes, Stiles saw when they turned toward him.

Derek's eyes caught his for a second. The distant expression altered and the corners of Derek's mouth twitched down until he moved face-to-face with his student again.

"He's something, isn't he?"

Stiles jumped, whirling to face Peter Hale. "Whoa. Uh, hi, Mr. Hale." Derek's comments about his uncle flashed through Stiles' head as Peter smiled at him.

"Good to see you again, Stiles," said Peter, his tone friendly enough. "When I have some time I like to watch my nephew and his dance partner at work. They're the best we have, you know."

"Yeah." The leftover pieces of granola in Stiles' mouth suddenly tasted like cardboard. "They're pretty amazing. Do you, uh, dance, too? Hereditary kind of thing?"

Peter shook his head and chuckled. "No. Derek's wilder than I am, and certainly wilder than his parents were."

The word _were_ hit Stiles' heart like a hammer. Peter must have seen something in his eyes, because he put a hand on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles almost flinched. "I'm sorry to bring that up."

"No, it's okay," Stiles mumbled out the lie. "I didn't know. That- that must be rough on you both."

"Especially on Derek," Peter replied. His hand remained on Stiles' shoulder, sending a cold shiver through Stiles. "It explains a lot about him, really."

"Yeah." Stiles glanced into the studio. Peter's explanation made him feel like an intruder on something private that should have been Derek's to share. He pulled away from Peter's grasp. "I should probably go meet my dad now, sorry. Don't tell him I've been ruining my appetite, okay?" He held up the granola bar.

"Your secret's safe with me," Peter promised.

Stiles retreated from the hallway at a steady walk. He broke into a hasty jog once he'd moved out of sight, and escaped from the recreation building's air conditioned confines into the warm night.

* * *

His father had told him that the Argents lived somewhere on the Sterling property, but Stiles had no idea where. The main buildings filled his line of vision when he scanned the resort. He asked an elderly couple who had no more idea than he did, and resigned himself to hiding out in the suite until either Jackson or their father returned.

Stiles rode the elevator up to the third floor. He turned right, toward their suite.

"Hey, Stiles!" Scott called from behind him.

"Oh, hey, man," said Stiles, turning back in relief. Scott wore his bellhop's outfit again. "Haven't seen you around today."

"I spent the morning with my mom," Scott explained. "I get half a day off every week. How's your day been?"

"A little stranger than expected, but not bad," Stiles replied. "We went out on the boat earlier, with the Argents and Lydia."

"Oh yeah? How's Allison?" Scott asked eagerly.

Stiles laughed. "You've got it so bad for her, dude. She's fine. You would've enjoyed her ice cream-eating techniques."

A faraway look came over Scott's face. "I've seen them." 

Stiles snorted. "I'm sure you have. Hey," he added, inspired. "You know where the Argents live, right?"

Scott's attention turned back to him. "Well, yeah. They're right by the tennis courts."

"Huh." Stiles combed through his memory, but he'd been to focused on the dancers to notice the scenery beyond the courts. He grinned. "You wouldn't mind showing me the way, right?"

"It's easy to- oh yeah. Sure." Scott's eyes lit up.

Stiles didn't mind giving him an excuse to visit Allison that even the Argents wouldn't question. They rode back down to the ground floor together, chatting about the boat ride. The interlude Stiles had spent with Lydia and Derek didn't come up, and Stiles figured the two of them could tell Scott if they chose.

Scott cut through the gap between the hotel and the recreation building, and around the tennis courts. In the dim evening sunlight, Stiles glimpsed another structure beyond a row of swaying palm trees. "That's the Argents' place?" he asked Scott.

"Yeah," Scott replied. "From the second floor you can see pretty much the whole resort." He flashed a grin over his shoulder at Stiles. "I helped Allison carry her stuff upstairs when she came back from school in May."

"Carry her stuff? Is this a euphemism I've never heard before?" Stiles teased. Scott laughed and elbowed him.

The Argents owned an elegant, two-story house, painted white with red-brown accents. Stiles hadn't spotted it due to the shield of trees and the resort hill itself. Two porch lights blinked on when Stiles and Scott climbed the front steps. Inside the house had already been lit up, a cheerful glow in the darkening twilight.

Stiles glanced at Scott and used the silver door knocker. He fiddled with the rubber band in his pocket as he waited for a response.

The door swung open. "No no, Hunter!" Allison scooped up a calico shape that had tried darting out the screen door. She deposited the cat back in the house and slipped onto the porch, a smile blooming over her face at the sight of them. "Stiles, hi." Her lips shaped another hello for Scott, and he gave her a besotted little wave.

"Hey, Allison. How's dinner?" Stiles asked.

"Oh, it's been a lot of fun," Allison replied. "I can see where you get your sense of humor."

"Yeah, it's a carbon copy of my dad's," Stiles admitted. "But I'm even more hilarious. Do you have room for another wisecracking Stilinski in there?"

"Sure! Mom set places for you and Jackson, just in case," said Allison.

Stiles cleared his throat. "So, uh." He threw a second glance at Scott. "I also wanted to ask, do you have anything going tomorrow, say in the afternoon?"

Scott's brow furrowed in confusion. "Because," Stiles forged on, "I've got some free time and I thought we could, you know. Hang out. And let our parents know we won't be real available for awhile," he prompted.

"Oh!" Allison's expression cleared. "Of course. We can _spend some time together."_ She enunciated carefully, looking directly at Scott. "Without our parents. That's a great idea."

"Allison? Who's at the door?" Victoria called faintly, from inside the house.

"Stiles, Mom!" Allison called back.

"I'll make up a plate for him!" Victoria replied.

Allison turned back to them. "Come on in." She beckoned to Stiles with a last wistful look at Scott. When Stiles glanced back, he caught a hopeful, perplexed expression on Scott's face. With any luck Allison would explain their mutual alibi agreement to him if Scott hadn't understood.

* * *

Stiles shared the next morning's breakfast with Jackson and their father. John had told them to order whatever they wanted from room service at anytime because Chris had given them a hefty discount, so all three of them had splurged on Belgian waffles, hash browns, scrambled eggs on toast, and orange juice. Stiles relented on the health food for John, just for that morning. The Argents had served a great, wholesome meal of island cuisine the night before, to balance this meal out.

When they'd all cleared their plates, Stiles had thrown on a loose tee and more comfortable shorts. "Where are you headed?" his father called, as Stiles made his way to the door.

A pang of guilt hit Stiles over lying to his father. "Hanging out with Allison, remember?" he responded. 

"Ah, that's right." John twisted around and grinned at him from one of the lounge chairs. "You kids have fun."

He and Allison had swapped cell numbers after dinner. As Stiles stepped into the hallway, he sent her a text: _leaving suite now should be gone 2-3 hrs._ They'd planned to coordinate their disappearances so as not to arouse suspicion. Two or three hours would give Stiles plenty of time with Derek, and enough for Scott and Allison to snatch a few precious minutes together whenever Scott could steal away from his duties.

Stiles hustled down the newly familiar path, by the spiky leaves and the bright flowers. At this time of day the staff quarters looked all but abandoned, though some of the other dancers might be around.

He followed the route Derek had shown him to the sheds, keeping the sound of the beach to his left. The path opened onto the shed clearing, where Derek stood in front of the second-largest structure, the one they'd used the other day. He had his arms folded across his chest, and wore a white tank top over his jeans, a shirt that showed off his tanned, toned arms.

Of their own accord, Stiles' eyes took him in, looking Derek up and down. His gaze snapped back up when Derek told him, "You're late."

"Am I? Because I don't remember scheduling an appointment," Stiles informed him. "Do you even know how sore I am after yesterday?"

"Not as sore as you'll be after today," said Derek. The promise gave Stiles a warm shiver.

He followed Derek into the shed again. Derek went straight to one of the shelves. "Oh," said Stiles, surprised when a steady drumbeat started up. A guitar soon joined the drum with the song's melody, but Stiles could still hear the underlying rhythm.

"You said it would be easier with music," said Derek in a gruff tone, still with his back turned. "I'm not sure about that."

"You'll see," said Stiles, with more confidence than he felt. "The music'll let out the real party animal in me."

They spent some time practicing beside each other, finding the pulse of the song. Stiles made an effort not to sneak a look at Derek's feet. He had to be able to tell where Derek was going without staring toward the floor. Derek called a halt to the practice once Stiles' form satisfied him. "Time for the real thing," said Derek.

"Oh good," said Stiles. "I might've gotten used to all this non-failure."

This time he more or less remembered where to place his hands: on the curve of Derek's upper arm, for the first. It might have been his imagination, but Stiles thought Derek drew in a quick breath when Stiles stroked over his bicep, looking for the right position. Derek curled his hand around Stiles', joined their fingers like a yin-yang symbol.

Derek corrected the position of his elbows. "Keep your frame solid," he commanded Stiles. "No, don't let your arms droop. Remember, it's the second and fourth beats."

Stiles shifted nervously from the ball of one foot to the other, readying himself. He couldn't stop staring at the hollow of Derek's throat, or the collarbones that showed over the top of his shirt.

"Eyes up," Derek told him.

"Yes sir, Mister Dance Instructor, sir," said Stiles. He met Derek's eyes.

"Straighten your back, and let your knees bend a little," said Derek, after a moment. "We'll start on this measure."

Stiles almost stepped out on the first beat. That made his initial step shakier than he would have liked, but then he shifted to the ball of his other foot put his foot back as Derek's came forward. "Whoa, hey!" Stiles broke into a grin.

"That's the way. Keep it up," Derek ordered. For a single instant, the corner of his mouth quirked upward.

Stiles could've laughed in triumph. But of course, he lost his beat count thanks to the distraction of Derek's tiny smile. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized, shifting his feet quickly to make up for the loss.

"Focus. Concentrate on me," said Derek, back to his commanding tone.

"I _was_ ," Stiles complained, and flushed. He glanced down at Derek's feet to make sure they matched the movement of his.

"Eyes on me!" Derek snapped.

Stiles' feet ached, but he didn't protest as Derek explained some other simple steps to him. Derek would twirl him on the first beat and Stiles would step _out_ on the second. He would come back under Derek's arm and step back _in_ on the fourth. Every step had to be part of a single fluid motion, his hips working constantly in the smooth roll Derek had perfected with his.

Derek showed him one of the moves he'd performed with his five-thirty student the day before. "You turn right here, tucked under my arm like this," Derek told him.

He brought Stiles under in a swift motion and suddenly his chest pressed flush against Stiles' back. Their joined hands rested like a brand against Stiles' stomach, right at the waistband of his shorts. A soft sound escaped Stiles. His heart pounded. He could feel the steadier pump of Derek's heartbeat against his back.

Abruptly Derek spun him out again. "Eyes back to mine." His voice had deepened, raspy for a second.

Stiles stumbled, losing count a second time as Derek pulled him straight into the basic steps. He put his foot forward ahead of the beat and stepped on Derek's bare toes with his. "Sorry. Okay, not my finest hour," said Stiles, his tone uneven. "It's kind of hard to keep track of what you're doing after we pull a fancy move."

Derek sighed, but instead of letting Stiles go he reeled him close. "Let's try something else, since the visual cues aren't working."

He raised Stiles' hand to his chest. "You felt that before," Derek stated. He tapped Stiles' knuckles in a quick one-two beat. "You feel my heartbeat now?"

Stiles froze, staring at him. At last he forced himself to nod. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." He also felt the heat that rose off Derek's skin, intense through the thin fabric of the tank top.

"Close your eyes," said Derek, and Stiles obeyed. "You still feel that."

"Yeah," Stiles whispered. Everything seemed louder and closer with his eyes shut. He thought he could hear the steady thud of Derek's heart against his palm. He could feel the slight flex of the pectoral muscle under his fingers, and the slight breeze of Derek's breath on his face.

"You feel it there," said Derek in an undertone. "You can feel it here, too."

He closed his other hand around Stiles', pressing Stiles' thumb against his wrist. Derek's pulse thrummed to the same rhythm as his heart. Stiles barely noticed when Derek began swaying with him. He lifted his feet, in a dreamlike state as he rolled from the ball down onto the heel and picked up the other. The music didn't matter as much as the tick of Derek's pulse under his fingers.

"That's it." Derek spoke, so close that Stiles felt sure he'd open his eyes and find Derek's face less than an inch from his own. "That's it, Stiles."

Stiles grinned. "High praise."

"From me it is." Derek sounded almost amused.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, still grinning so widely his cheeks hurt. "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm updating this story every day on the kinkmeme, so chapters here should be posted pretty regularly, too.


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